Mr. M. F. Kemp, of the Bland Holt company, was a successful applicant for a block on the Government sub-division at Doogalook, near Yea, and is actively engaged in improving the property preparatory to commencing dairying. - Mr. Meyer, manager for the Oscar Asche-Brayton company, has leased Dunoon, the property of Mr. B. Cunningham. - Victorian news item.

Stand over.... By my halidame, at last,
   From all my histrionic triumphs grand
Respite I gain to ponder o'er my past,
            Upon the land.
Long years I yearned. Well, I remember how:
A cow!  A cow!  My kingdom for a cow!


And now my fondest dream is realised....
   Woa! Steady, Baldy....  In the tinsel show
Of make believes no more I strut disguised
            As So-and-so.
Nay, here I am myself without disguise....
Confound you! Keep your tail out of my eyes!


My eyes!  Ah yes, the girls at matinées
   Praised well my eyes. And yet, what boots it now?
Those foolish vanities of other days....
            Stand over, cow!
Still, thoughts will come, here in my solitude....
I wonder what's put Darky off her food?


Yes, thoughts will come.  And ah, how vividly
   I still can picture each triumphant sight,
And hear the loud applause. I still can see
            That great first night
When I played Hamlet in the dear old Cri....
By Jove, I hope old Spot's not going dry!


Ah, that applause!  'Tis unction to the soul
   Of any act-or. Yet, what, matter now?
Away with such desires! for now my goal....
            STAND OVER, COW!
That welcome sound! Shall e'er I hear it more -
The clapping hands, the feet upon the floor?


Another finished, and three more to milk.
   Heigh-ho!  This labor less keen joy affords
Than when, bewigged and clad in shining silk,
            I trod the boards.
Now dungarees....    But stay. What folly's this?
Yet, surely there is something that I miss?


What is it - this vague something that I crave -
   This strange, insistent yearning in my blood ?
My silent cows look on with faces grave,
            And chew the cud.
And, as I set each bucket down, I pause.
For what? . . . Gadzooks! I'm waiting for applause!


I'm waiting for applause.  Ah, woe is me!
   This the unhappy act-or's heritage!
The craving that o-ercomes a man if he
            Once walks the stage.
My cattle gaze with apathetic eyes,
And my performance none will recognise.


Out on you!  Unappreciative beast!
   Cannot my act appeal to such as you?
Will not you stamp upon the stall, at least,
            Or gently "moo"?
O, for the dear dead days of paint and wige....
Odds bodikins!  I didn't feed the pigs!

"Den"
The Bulletin, 11 August 1910, p9